


Sold my Soul to the Company

by theskyeskye



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Daddy Kink, Drabbles, M/M, uhm should probably mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:49:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4863758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskyeskye/pseuds/theskyeskye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles (most of them on the smutty side) that I've done for a pre canon universe in which Rhys works for Jack (supplementary to my RP on tumblr). Just thought I'd share them here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. last kiss

Rhys doesn’t know where to begin or how to deal with the fact that this is it. This is how it ends. There was a poem he once read and it comes to mind as Jack’s fingers trace the sweep of his neck, down into the dip of his collar. His hand comes to a halt over Rhys’ heart, not anatomically correct, but symbolically it is. That’s it, that’s where the knife is being driven home. 

What’s that stupid poem?

Jack’s lips are so warm, it feels almost deceptive, he knows that Jack’s not coming back. They both know it. He’s not smiling and he can’t bring himself to pretend. His cheeks are wet. 

_This is the way the world ends_ …

“You don’t have to do this,” Rhys says quietly, “it’s not worth it.”

They both know it’s a beautiful lie. There’s no other way. There’s no turning back now. But that’s what they have left to cling to. One lie after another, after another, after another. 

_This is the way the world ends, not with a bang_ …

Jack laughs quietly against his lips as he reaches up with his opposite hand and strokes his fingers affectionately through his hair, one last time. Rhys makes a soft noise of protest into the kiss as Jack gives more, he tastes of his last cup of coffee and a cigarette he’s not supposed to have. His tongue is warm and familiar, his lips soft and pliant, his hands are steady, but Rhys is shaking. 

_This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper…_

Jack says goodbye, but he doesn’t say those words, he says ‘ _Don’t wait up_ ’. Jack’s lips leave him, and Rhys whimpers.


	2. eyelid kiss (1)

Rhys had never experienced a headache like this before. Everything burned and blured his vision, his head was pounding and his face felt hot. He couldn’t think or move, the screaming agony of tight blood vessels and the pounding of blood through his skull is overwhelming. It starts slow, late at night before bed, and he rebuffs a lot of Jack’s affection. He’s too cranky. Pain will do that to you. 

The pain built in the night and it kept him awake. He tossed and turned until he was sure he was going to make Jack crazy with how much he was moving. At half past three he made his way to the couch to bury his face in the pillows and fight with himself. A little while later it was time for pain killers. Pain killers didn’t even take the slightest sting out of what he was feeling. He shut down his echo eye and tried–  _tried_  to sleep.

When morning came creeping up on him he’d been in pain so long, pain that you couldn’t cope with by finding a more comfortable position, that he’d shut down. He laid on the couch, eyes shut, arm hanging down, knuckles brushing the floor, legs sprawled awkwardly, breathing so slow and shallow it almost looked like he wasn’t breathing at all. He’d reached the point in which he had to admit defeat and just tough it out. 

It was around five when Jack came for him. Rhys grunted an apology when he heard footsteps pad toward him. He felt Jack’s presence at his side, warm and steady. Jack knelt down, his fingers felt good when they pushed slightly sweat damp hair off his forehead. Jack’s fingers always held this cool quality. Rhys smiled faintly because there had been times when they snuck up on each other and pressed chilly fingers to bare skin. This time he wasn’t startled, he was comforted. 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Rhys croaked, “I… Think the cybernetics caused this… migraine… I’m afraid if I open my eyes it’ll get worse. It… It  _hurts_ , Jack.”

His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. He was so tired, he just wanted to rest. Jack spoke with that deep, soft, concerned tone that always reminded Rhys that Jack was a father. He had good bedside manner when he really needed it. This was one of those cases. Rhys felt scolded when Jack told him that sleeping on the couch wasn’t going to do him any good and that he should have just woken him up. 

Rhys laughs and his own laughter makes his skull feel like it’s gonna split open. Jack shushes him and as a few stinging tears slip out of Rhys’ closed lids, Jack is there to carefully gather him up in his arms. They’re going back to bed. Jack won’t have it any other way. As Jack tucks him back in, he gets in up against his side so he can gently card his fingers through Rhys’ hair. The fingers on his scalp are a welcome distraction, they help the pain feel more bearable. 

“Thanks… you… you take such good care of me, Papa,” Rhys whispers the words that are kind of like ‘I love you’ but not quite. They mean as much, and he says them often, because he wants Jack to know just how much he appreciates him. Jack sighs through his nose. Rhys can’t see what expression he’s wearing and finds that wildly frustrating, but then, there’s a gentle brush of lips against his closed eyes. It’s so gentle he almost doesn’t notice until Jack’s breath gusts across his brow. He’s being kissed, and Rhys can feel the faintest upturn of Jack’s lips against his skin. 


	3. eyelid kiss (2)

Jack doesn’t really get sick. He’s got one of those freakish terminator immune systems. He doesn’t get the occasional sniffles or a cough or a fever. He gets headaches now and then from all the stress he carries in his shoulders, but sick? Jack doesn’t really get  _sick_. However, what Jack does get, is the infrequent, once, possibly twice a year,  _‘Oh my god I’m going to die’_. It’s not sick, it’s insanity. Rhys has never seen anyone get ill like this in his life.

It started out as just an itch in Jack’s throat that he couldn’t quite clear, and then three days later, he suddenly had a full upper respiratory infection of some kind. He was running a near constant fever, he was on antibiotics, he was hacking and wheezing, unable to do much moving because his muscles were sore. He hardly slept, he could barely eat, and he was almost insufferably cranky. When they reached day six of Jack’s ‘I’m-dying-slowly-athon’ it seemed that Jack was getting too tired to even complain anymore. 

Rhys had done everything he could to ease the discomfort. He’d propped him up in bed, brought him books, rented movies, helped him work from home a little, doted on him with all the affection Jack would allow, waited on him, made him foods that he promised Jack had magical healing properties. He did have a good recipe for a pearl barley and chicken soup that seemed to perk Jack up for a little while. It wasn’t as though Rhys had to go into the office to do his job, but Jack insisted that he’d be okay, but when away, Rhys texted him nearly constantly. He couldn’t stand the thought of Jack home alone, suffering through it, probably bored out of his skull and unable to sleep because of how hard it was to breathe. 

Rhys was held up late tonight, dealing with some security breach in R&D that was going to take more than an evening’s worth of work to fix. He was tired, and come midnight, he was ready to go home. He hadn’t heard back from Jack in a while and assumed he was finally getting some sleep. When he stepped into the bedroom, Jack was there, book on his lap, glasses askew, red nosed, and a little sweaty, but dozing lightly. His breathing was rattly at best, but he at least, finally looked peaceful in the low light of his bedside touch lamp. Rhys deposited his things on top of the dresser and began to disrobe after his long day at work until he was down to his underwear. He fished one of Jack’s t-shirts out of the drawer and slipped it on. When he turned around, Jack’s eyes were open, a little bleary, but he smiled faintly.

“Hey, sorry, did I wake you?” Rhys whispered, moving closer to go pick up Jack’s book and set it aside on the night stand. He took a seat on the edge of the bed and reached out, gently taking Jack’s glasses off for him and giving them a home atop the book. “Shhh, hey. It’s late. Just, get comfy and go back to sleep.”

Jack didn’t seem coherent enough to protest. Rhys kind of liked that, and leaned in, pressing his lips to Jack’s forehead. The fever had finally broken, and his skin was cooler to the touch than it had been. Rhys spoke his relief against Jack’s skin. 

“Hey, you’re getting better. No fever,” he pointed out. He peppered a few more kisses at Jack’s brow, and then down, over his closed eyes as he tucked him in, encouraging him to keep them closed and get some well deserved rest.


	4. i spent your money

There were things they’d done that were more depraved than this, there was no doubt in Rhys mind about that as he padded around Jack’s desk (these were steps he could make with his eyes shut) and took a seat in his chair. Yes, there were things that they’d done that were almost cringe worthy at times, but this was the sort of thing that Rhys had come to thrive on; he wound his fingers in Jack’s hair and pulled him closer, long legs wrapping around his waist while metal fingers squeezed at his throat as they kissed. To say that this was excessive would probably be an understatement, but Rhys didn’t care, he knew he looked good enough to eat in all the expensive lingerie, fur, and cologne that Jack’s money could buy– Jack didn’t seem to mind now that he saw just what he was getting out of it, even if Rhys had been fashionably (7:17) late.

“I’m  _sorry_ , Papa, I might’ve gotten carried away,” Rhys words were low, sultry, and devious, spoken so close that his lips brushed against Jack’s own. Jack made a noise that Rhys would assume was approving while his legs were pushed farther apart and they got down to business breaking desk chair number four.


	5. unity

It was nights like this that Rhys really got to bask in what it meant to know someone, to be a part of someone, to feel like that someone was a part of him too. The way they moved around one another in the kitchen, sharing the space, not needing to speak to avoid bumping elbows, working fluidly together to make a meal that they’d share… these things settled in Rhys’ chest and made him feel at ease. He turned into Jack as Jack went for the sink to rinse his fingers off and stopped him in his path, causing him to hold his hands back so as not to touch Rhys, leaving him open and exposed to Rhys’ gentle grasp on either side of his face. 

“I…” _am spoiled rotten by all this closeness, can’t imagine a better way to spend an evening, want to be with you like this forever,_  “…love you.”

He didn’t get much of a chance to say anything more before his lips were met with an impatient peck and Jack wedged around him to wash his hands, though, under his breath, with a smile on his lips, Rhys was pretty sure he heard Jack say  _‘I love you too’_.


	6. silk

Rhys is draped in silk. The robe hangs off his frame like it was made for him. It’s black, because Jack loves black. He seems to especially love it on Rhys. Rhys’ lips curl up at one corner as he slowly approaches the edge of the bed. His fingers touch Jack’s ankle, slowly, sliding upward as he walks. In his other hand, a half drained flute of champagne bubbles away, waiting for him to take another sip. 

“You think you’re ready for more?” Rhys asks, glancing at the way Jack’s wrists were bound together above his head by the very tie Rhys had worn home from work that day. It’s not so tight that he couldn’t slip it, but the implication is there. He’s all Rhys’ and he’s not going anywhere.

Rhys is well spent already, his cum still sticky and cooling on Jack’s stomach, but Jack– Jack looked ready to burst, cock still hard and unfinished. Rhys nods as his hand comes to a stop at Jack’s inner thigh, and he dips his fingers between Jack’s legs, fingers sliding along his cheeks, teasing at the notion of going deeper, of pushing inside Jack. 

“I think you’re ready for more. I’m going to milk you until you’ve got nothing left to give, Daddy. I’m very good at this, I promise you. I can get at that sweet little spot… Make you quiver,” Rhys bit into his lower lip, trying to fight the mischievous grin that was spreading there. Jack was in for a very…  _very_  long night.


End file.
